


The Second Aberration

by LyricaXXX (LyricaB)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Clothing Discrepancy, Developing Relationship, Lewis Secret Santa 2014, M/M, Mild D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricaB/pseuds/LyricaXXX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie knows the moment he opens the door to his flat that something’s going to happen. Knows it from the way James’s breath hitches when, in a rare moment of clumsiness, they try to go through the door at the same time and end up squeezed together in the doorframe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Aberration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Complicated light (ComplicatedLight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/gifts).



> This is for ComplicatedLight, who asked for Robbie/James and said that a story featuring ‘clothing discrepancy’ would make her very happy. 
> 
> Written for Lewis-Challenge Secret Santa 2014.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Wendymr for proofing and Britpicking. You’re a fast goddess! I’m in your debt.

Robbie knows the moment he opens the door to his flat that something’s going to happen. Knows it from the way James’s breath hitches when, in a rare moment of clumsiness, they try to go through the door at the same time and end up squeezed together in the doorframe. 

James huffs with frustration, and they back up and start through the door again, but they’re still off. They jostle against each other and end up in the same place, pressed tight together, arms and legs tangled. 

James shudders and a sound, almost like a whispered moan, comes out. 

Robbie freezes and a sharp, hot stab of lust spears him. His heart gives a double beat and all the air in his lungs rushes out, then back in. 

He knows that sound. He remembers that sound, remembers the feel of James shuddering against him. Because it’s happened once before. 

It had been, they’d both agreed, just one of those things. Due to circumstance. Due to the case on which they were assisting. A Peterson case. An action movie type of case, with a car chase through narrow, rain-swept streets and a foot chase through a maze of dark alleys, a last minute takedown of an escaping suspect, eerily reminiscent of the first Peterson case they’d worked. Only it had been Robbie who’d got in the knockout punch this time. (Small wonder that Peterson now seems to think that having them assigned to assist on his cases is a sort of good luck charm.) 

When it was all over, there’d been enough adrenalin pumping through his system to fuel the lights of Oxford for a fortnight. To keep him jittering as they walked back to the car through the dark, silent streets, James matching his stride perfectly, shoulder bumping up against his with every step. After the silent car ride home, it had seemed only natural to shove James up against the brick wall beside his front door and kiss him until his long legs buckled. To run his hands over what he could reach of James’s tall, slender body, and then, without a word spoken between them, take him inside and explore the rest of him.

But the next morning, they’d agreed. It was a one-off. An ‘aberration’, James called it. Something that happened in the heat of battle, but shouldn’t happen again. They’d agreed...they didn’t want to be split up at work. And they valued their partnership, their working relationship, their easy friendship, too much to risk it for sex. 

Even mind-blowing sex, Robbie tells himself on those nights when his thoughts stray back to that night. To the beauty of James, long length of spine arched and begging, honey and red wine voice moaning his name. 

But looking at James now, he knows their agreement is about to be broken. Knows it from the way James is all twitchy inside his skin. From the way his bluegreen eyes go wide and needy when Robbie reaches underneath his jacket and rests a hand on his waist. 

James makes that sound again, louder this time, deep in his throat. And his skin is fever hot through the cotton of his pink shirt. 

Robbie has a thing for that pink shirt. He has a fantasy image of James wearing only that pink shirt and his pink socks, standing in his living room, warmed by a beam of morning sunlight. It slips up on him at odd moments, tiptoes into his dreams. Overruns his common sense and nibbles at his determination to respect their agreement. If they’re going to fall off the wagon, he’s glad it’s on a day when James is wearing that shirt. 

He guides James backwards over the threshold and into his flat. “You’re in a bad way, lad,” he says, and James nods, mute and wide-eyed. 

Robbie locks the door with one hand while he moves James back against the wall with the other. 

He has a thing for James and walls, too. There’s something about the man that demands to be shoved up against a wall and kissed breathless. 

James shudders again and goes limp. All but the part of him that’s straining against the back of his zip. 

Robbie cups him, smoothing his palm along the long, hot length. It makes him aware of how much he’s straining against his own trousers, and he leans into James, pressing his erection against his hip. 

James’s head falls back against the wall with a thunk, and he breathes, “Yes,” with a long, drawn-out hiss of relief. He’s been jittery and brittle all day, and it’s like all that just drains out of him.

Robbie unzips him and slips his hand inside. Blows out a hiss of his own at the contrasting sensations. Sharp, cold metal teeth of zip circling his wrist like a bracelet. Hot, hard, silky cock curving into his palm. Slithery silk of pants brushing his knuckles. 

He presses his face into James’s neck. Inhales the warm, cigarette scent of him and then slides the tip of his tongue along the edge of James’s collar. James tastes, improbably, of the ocean, like childhood holidays at the shore. Salt and cotton and sunlight. 

James tips his head back, bumping the wall again, and arches towards his hand. “Christ, Sir,” he huffs, his voice sex and velvet and sharp. “Christ.” 

“Could you not call me ‘Sir’ when I’ve got your prick in me hand?” Robbie rumbles against his neck. 

James groans and the laughter in it sounds good. “Anything,” he breathes. “I’ll call you anything you want if you just keep touching me.” 

“Oh, aye? Anything?” Robbie slides his fingers further down into James’s pants. His fingertips remember this, too. James’s warm, silky skin, the hard, elegant curve of his cock, the curling hair soft as cornsilk. 

James shifts, sliding one foot sideways to give Robbie better access, and rolls his head back and forth against the wall. 

Robbie circles his fingers around James’s cock. It fits so perfectly in his palm. “And does that include doing anything I tell you to do?” 

The rolling head movement comes to an abrupt stop. James slowly turns so that he can meet Robbie’s gaze. He stares for a moment. 

Robbie can sense the wheels turning in his brain, assessing, thinking, calculating. 

And then James whispers a breathless, “Yes.” As he says it, his cock jerks in Robbie’s hand. Then his eyes slide closed and he turns his face away like he’s suddenly overcome with shyness. 

Anticipation spirals through Robbie, and he shoves harder into James. He wants to take him to the floor. To do unspeakable things to his slim, strong body right there beside the door, on the cold tile. To make James groan. To make that silky voice croon with pleasure. 

But he wants the other more. That image. That fantasy. He’s thought of it, so many times, in the middle of the night, in the dark. In the office, with James sitting opposite him, bright light streaming in, and him so hard he has to stay tight against his desk until he can think of something else, something that will wipe out that image. James in that shirt. James naked. Despite their agreement, despite telling himself he shouldn’t. 

He slips his hand out of James’s trousers, smiling at the little moan of disappointment, and carefully zips him up. 

James looks down at his hand, at his closed zip, and quirks a smile. The one where his head tilts and his lips make a straight line and his bluegreen eyes say plainly, fondly, that he thinks Robbie’s daft. 

Robbie answers with his own grin. The one that says young men from Cambridge don’t always know all that they think they do. “Well, then,” he says softly, and catches James by the shoulder. “Let’s have a little fun.” 

“I thought we already were,” James protests, stumbling a little as he allows himself to be peeled off the wall, guided into the living room. To be placed in the centre of the room. 

“Stay right there,” Robbie orders. 

Robbie turns on a lamp in the corner of the room. Another in the kitchen, in the bedroom. Creating a dim glow that turns the shadows warm and pushes them back a bit. 

When Robbie comes back into the room, James is standing where he left him, eyes closed, chin tipped up, fingers opening and closing. A little of that nervous energy from earlier in the day has reasserted itself. But at least he’s not slumping. His spine is straight as a board. And his cock is, too, still pushing at the front of his trousers. 

James turns his head just a bit, eyes still closed, tracking Robbie as he crosses the room. He lists as Robbie stops beside him, body swaying towards him. 

“Take off your shoes,” Robbie orders softly and wraps his fingers around James’s upper arm. 

James flinches at the contact, eyes flying open. He darts a glance at Robbie before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes again. He settles to stillness, that momentary tension in his muscles deliberately relaxed. Then he leans into Robbie’s grip and obeys, shifting from one foot to the other as he toes his shoes off. 

Robbie’s heart gives a little thump and starts to beat faster. Which is daft, because it’s only shoes. Only James’s pink socks, pale against the dark floor. 

He pushes the shoes away, over against the wall. Rolls his shoulders to ease the tension in them. Takes a deep breath to settle himself. Because it’s not socks or shoes making him giddy. It’s the way James did what he told him to. It’s what will happen if James keeps on doing what he tells him to do. 

He walks over to the sofa and perches on the back of it, facing James. 

James’s eyes pop open at the sound of him settling. He looks surprised to see Robbie so far away, and he does that head-tilt again. Puzzlement and maybe a little bit of frustration. His gaze wanders down Robbie’s body. Maybe reassuring himself, as Robbie did with him, that he’s still interested. 

following the same path. It makes him feel shivery and tender, scraped like the seams inside his clothing are abrading his skin. The weight of his zip, riding across his cock, burns. He shifts, spreading his legs to ease the pressure. 

James eyes widen and he licks his lips before he forces his gaze up to Robbie’s face. “What—” His voice catches, and he pauses to clear his throat. “What now, S—? What now, Robbie?” 

Robbie has to clear his throat before he can speak, too. “I like the thought of you in that shirt and your pink socks.” 

James looks down at his shirt, leans out a little to look down at his feet. 

“ _Just_ the shirt and the socks,” Robbie amends. 

A smile, mixed disbelief and delight, lights up James’s face. “You have a fantasy about me wearing this shirt?” 

“Yeah.” 

As James finally catches up to Robbie’s game, the smile turns calculating. 

It’s something Robbie’s never seen before. Desire and cunning on that lovely, saintly face. There’s an edge to it. An unexpectedness that thrills him. He’s never thought of it before, of what it would be like to have James’s intellect, his imagination, focused on him. Focused on arousing him. 

“Well, then...” James draws out the words, almost mocking him. His hand strays to his tie. His long fingers toy with it. Waiting. Stalling. 

Waiting until Robbie wants to growl at him to hurry up, but then he realizes that James is waiting for him. James has said he’ll do whatever Robbie tells him to do, so he’s waiting to be told. 

Excitement prickles in the small of his back. “Your jacket first,” he says gruffly. 

James rushes to comply, twisting his shoulders and tugging with both hands to get his jacket off. He holds it for a moment, gaze darting around as he tries to decide what to do with it. 

Robbie holds out his hand and James throws the jacket to him. 

Robbie drapes the jacket over the sofa beside his hip and rests his hand on it, strokes the material. It’s softer than his jacket, made of better cloth, and it smells faintly of their office—files and ink—and James. 

“Trousers next.” 

James, whose hand has already started to rise towards his tie again, twitches. Hot spots of colour blossom on his sharp cheekbones. But he obeys. 

He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons, unzips. Hesitates only a moment before sliding his trousers off and stepping out of them. Throws them over to Robbie without hesitation. 

Robbie drapes them over the couch on his other side. Now he has the soft scent of James, the silky cloth that’s been moulded to his body all day, under both hands. 

“Nice.” He strokes the cloth and stares at James, aware that the word is ambiguous. That James is wondering whether he means the feel of the cloth under his fingers, or his view of James’s long, muscular legs. 

James’s nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath. His gaze darts back and forth between Robbie’s hands, resting on his clothing, to Robbie’s gaze as it strays up and down his bare legs. 

“Pants,” Robbie says softly. 

The intake of breath is audible this time. The hesitation a little longer. But James slips his hands up under his shirt. 

Robbie’s not sure how calculated it is, but James goes in from the sides, pulls the waistband of his pants out and over his erection, then slips them down without ever lifting the tails of his shirt. Without exposing even a centimetre more of bare skin than he already has. 

It’s bound to be deliberate. Teasing at its finest, threatening to melt him. 

James’s pants fall to the floor, a pool of black silk around his ankles. James steps out of them and gives them a little kick to the side without waiting for Robbie to hold out his hand. 

Robbie starts to challenge him, but...he’s too taken with the sight in front of him to waste the time.

A shiver of appreciation ripples up his back. The reality of James, standing in the dim light of his living room wearing only shirt and tie and socks, is much sexier than any fantasy image that’s ever played across the backs of his eyelids. 

The view is...breathtaking. Those long, lean, muscular legs, and the rounded tail of shirt, just barely long enough to cover his groin. The material shoved out away from his body, showing just a hint of the shape of his thick cock. The hot flush that’s spread from his cheekbones, across his nose, down his long neck to blend with the pink of his collar. The sexy way his toes are curling against the floor inside his socks. 

James shifts a little. Easing his weight from foot to foot. Ducks his head as if he’s feeling suddenly shy under Robbie’s scrutiny. 

“Roll up your sleeves.” 

And, oh, that’s nice. Sexy, the way James’s shoulders quiver. The way his fingers are clumsy as they work the buttons on his cuffs and fold the material back on itself. 

When he’s finished, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms and hands. It’s like he feels exposed. More exposed with his bony wrists and smooth forearms bare than he did when he took off his trousers. He rubs first one wrist, then the other. Drops his hands to his sides. Starts to put them behind his back. 

It makes Robbie want to wrap his fingers around James’s wrists, hold them crossed in the small of his back. Feel the pulse leap under his smooth skin. 

“Now your tie,” Robbie says, before James can go vibrating back towards nervousness. His voice is thick, hollow, breath forced from deep in his chest. Like the air in the room is slowly growing heavier. Like it’s pressing down on him. Lust is pressing down on him. 

James doesn’t look at him as he reaches up and loosens the knot, works the length of silk back and forth until it comes apart in his hands. There’s a hiss, silk against cotton, as he pulls it free of his collar. 

Robbie holds out his hand again, and even though James isn’t looking directly at him, he throws the tie over. Robbie runs it through his hands, winds it around his fingers slowly, never taking his gaze off James. 

James seems to have got over his momentary shyness. His eyes, bright and glittering, follow the movement of Robbie’s fingers on the tie. His fingers slip up to the top button of his shirt and hesitate there. Waiting again. 

Robbie lets go of the tie and it falls, unfurling as it lands on the floor. He gives a quick jerk of his head, not trusting his voice. 

James slides the first button open. Slips his fingers inside his collar to spread the shirt open at his throat. Moves slowly to the next button. 

Robbie blows out a breath. This is beyond any fevered imagining in the darkness of his bedroom...James slowly, slowly working his fingers down the front of his shirt. Pausing at each button to make sure the pink cloth gapes open, exposing the hollow at the base of his throat. His chest, before moving down to the next button. His navel. The trail of barely there, white blond hair down his abdomen. 

Robbie’s never been able to decide which he prefers, the way James fades to pale pink in the dead of winter or tans in the summer sun. He thinks now, watching the slow tease of opening buttons, maybe he prefers James tanned. Summer gold. Hard and muscular from rowing and running in the Oxford heat. 

James hesitates at the last two buttons. “What about you?” 

Robbie’s so mesmerized by the movement of James’s fingers on his buttons, the production he’s made of exposing his chest, that it takes a minute to catch up to what James means. 

“Oh,” he says when he realizes James means his clothing. He’s still dressed for the office, still wearing his suit and tie. 

He doesn’t answer right away. He pushes off from the couch. Shrugs his shoulders to make his jacket settle on his shoulders. Adjusts his belt, but no amount of shifting is going to make his trousers feel comfortable right now, especially not with James’s bright gaze following every movement. 

He strolls slowly around James, pretending a nonchalance, a calmness, he’s certainly not feeling. He’s sure James can hear the bass thud of his heartbeat. 

He moves all the way around, looking down at James’s long, lean legs as he circles him. At the curve of muscle in his thighs. The dusting of hair so fine and blond it shows only as a sparkle in the dim light. At his shoulders, held taut and square, shirt stretched across their width. At the expanse of smooth, bare chest. 

He makes another complete circuit around James, smiling at the way James tilts his head and cuts his eyes sideways to follow him. At the way James’s body leans in his direction. The way James’s breath is faster and more shallow with each step. His own is doing the same thing. 

He pauses at James’s hip to lean close and breathe in his ear, “That’s the other part of me fantasy.” 

He brushes his fingers across the curve of James’s thigh. His skin is warm and the rounded muscle is hard. It contracts at his touch, going even harder. “You’re naked. And I’m still completely dressed.” 

James sucks in a sharp breath, whispers “Jesus!” A shudder runs over him, so strong Robbie can see the span of pink cotton across his back ripple with it. 

James’s fingers tighten into fists, then snap open as he whips them up to the bottom of his shirt. He yanks the last two buttons open. One rips loose, and Robbie hears the sharp tick as it hits the floor somewhere near the sofa. 

As James wheels and grabs him, his shirt flies open, and Robbie has just a glimpse of how much James likes what he’s said. 

Robbie stumbles, tripping over his own feet as James shoves him backwards. All that keeps him upright is James’s grip on the lapels of his jacket. 

His back hits the wall, hard, and his head thumps against it. His breath whooshes out as James slams into him, leans in so that he pressed against Robbie from floor to shoulders. 

James is hot. Hot as a crackling fire even through the layers of jacket and shirt, trousers and pants. He shoves the edges of his shirt open wide and moves against Robbie, rubbing his naked skin over Robbie’s clothing. Grinding his naked erection against Robbie’s clothed one. 

And, Christ!, this isn’t like any fantasy he’s ever had. 

It started out like his fantasy. James, playing the game, slowly stripping down to that shirt. All that tanned flesh, lean, rippling muscles framed in pink cotton. But he’s never imagined how good it would feel to have a mostly naked James grinding against him, his clothing riding between them like a rough third skin. 

His hands are under James’s shirt, running up and down the long, graceful line of James’s back, cupping the curve of his arse. He’s not sure how they got there, or even how long they’ve been there. He’s been too busy cataloguing James’s heat, and his insistent movements, and the gust of his breath in his ear. And his own climbing excitement. 

It’s all going to be over in seconds if he doesn’t get James off him. None of his fantasies include him coming in his trousers like a schoolboy. 

He grasps James’s hips and shoves him back and around, reversing their positions. 

James gasps as Robbie slams him into the wall, but it doesn’t stop the maddening movement of his body. 

Robbie has to do that by stepping back. Breaking the contact with James’s heat. Putting enough space between them that he can catch his breath. 

He wads up handfuls of the pink shirt and uses it to pin James’s shoulders to the wall. “Slow down,” he growls. 

“Don’t want to,” James purrs, sliding his knee in between Robbie’s legs. The height difference between them is enough that James’s hard thigh rides against his balls, drags his zipper across his cock. 

But it’s James’s voice that’s nearly his undoing. To hear James purr for him, he’s almost willing to abandon the fantasy. To forget that he’s supposed to be in charge and James is supposed to be doing what he wants. Almost. 

He steps back, takes in a deep breath. 

James is gorgeous leaning against the wall. Flushed with arousal, his eyes so bright Robbie can see them glitter in the dim light. His lips are parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. The shirt hangs open, bordering his long torso. And his cock. God, his cock is so hard it’s standing straight up. Curving back into his belly, leaving a shiny wet streak of precome. 

Robbie shivers as he tears his gaze away. “Socks,” he says roughly. 

James blinks. Looks at Robbie like he’s so lust-addled he can’t process the word. 

“Take off your socks,” Robbie enunciates clearly. 

James huffs out a breath, like he’s clearing his lungs and his brain at the same time. And after another couple of blinks, obeys. He raises each foot slowly, clumsily stripping off his socks, moving like he’s drugged. 

Maybe he is. God knows Robbie feels drugged, wild and barely able to breathe. 

Still moving slowly, James straightens, then reaches up and catches the edges of his shirt, anticipating Robbie’s next order, already shrugging his shoulders to slip it off. 

“No.” Robbie stops him. Moves so close he can feel the heat pouring off James, but not touching him. “I’ll do that.” 

James moans softly and lets his hands fall to his sides. 

Robbie slips his hands under the edges of the shirt, rests his fingertips on James’s chest and slides them up. Bunching the shirt ahead of his knuckles, sliding it open as he moves his hands upward. Taking his time over James’s smooth skin. Pausing to stroke his nipples. 

James makes the sweetest, needy sound and slides his back up and down the wall. 

It’s so enticing that Robbie leans in and traces the path of his fingers with his tongue. 

James groans and slides further down the wall. Knees buckling. He grabs on, and his fingers bite into Robbie’s shoulders. He strokes his palms back and forth over Robbie’s jacket. 

Robbie groans. Who’d have thought someone rubbing his jacket would be that sexy? 

By the time he gets the shirt off James’s shoulders, down his arms, fingers trailing the path of falling cotton, James is shivering, gasping like he’s rowed in a race, clinging to him like he can’t stand on his own. 

“God, Robbie,” he whispers as Robbie strips the shirt from between his back and the wall, wads it in his fists and presses it to his nose. 

Robbie inhales, drawing the scents of starched cotton and James into his lungs. Arousal, hot and thick, pools at the base of his spine. Burns. He’s been so hard so long, trapped in the confines of his pants and trousers, that he aches. 

James is watching him with through narrowed eyes, pupils black as shadow. “You realize I’ll never be able to wear that again?” he says huskily. “I’d be hard all day if I tried.” 

Robbie holds the shirt a moment longer, savouring the scent, the slowly dissipating warmth. Imprinting in his brain the sight of James, collapsed back against the wall, flushed and naked and trembling. “Then you’ll have to wear it here. Just for me.” 

James’s eyes go round and huge. 

Robbie presses the shirt even tighter to his face, covering his surprise and the sudden heat that flushes up from under his collar. The words just popped out without him thinking. 

They’d agreed. That one lust-fuelled night was a one-off. And this could have been passed off as the same. A momentary itch that needed to be scratched. If he hadn’t gone and said something like that. 

And then he realizes... It was already too late. He’s already made it impossible to pretend there was nothing more than a single night’s aberration between them, the moment he’d told James about his fantasy. 

And James had smiled with delight and stripped for him. Burned for him. 

Robbie holds his breath. Waiting for James to repeat what they’ve already said. That this wasn’t to be repeated. That they shouldn’t risk their working relationship, their friendship, for sex. Waiting for James to reject him. 

Instead, James takes a deep breath and says, soft but clear, “Okay.” And he reaches out and takes the shirt and throws it aside. Pulls him in so that he can press his lips to Robbie’s. 

James kisses him. Not with the rutting heat of a moment ago. With soft, sweet passion. His tongue touches Robbie’s lips, gentle and shy, teasing him into opening his mouth. Into responding. 

The taste of James, cigarettes and salt and ale, soaks into Robbie’s blood. And he clings to James, melts against him. Kisses him like he kissed him that other night, with heat and overwhelming need. 

James breaks the kiss and asks breathlessly, “Can we get you naked now?” and all Robbie can do is nod. 

He lifts his arms and shifts and twists as James strips him. As James walks him backwards towards the bedroom. Jacket and tie and shirt discarded in the hall. Shoes and socks at the door. Breathless laughter as they almost trip each other going through the door. Trousers and pants as they reach the edge of the bed. 

James’s hands caress every inch of his skin as it’s exposed. As he’s exposed. 

They fall back onto the bed together, both finally, gloriously, naked. Skin to skin. 

James pulls Robbie onto him, wraps his long legs around Robbie’s thighs and rocks, slowly, with wicked intent, beneath him. Arching and twisting so that their cocks jostle together and stutter against each other the same way their bodies did when they tried to go through the door. 

But something’s changed. Something in the tone of their bodies tangling together is different. Different from the time before. Different even from just a few minutes ago. 

Because this isn’t some frantic need to get off. Some one-off thing to be accomplished as quickly as possible for the sake of orgasm. To be forgotten as an inconvenient aberration. 

This is...something else. Something new, but not so new. Something that’s been growing in his heart for years. Hidden, unacknowledged, ignored, but there. Getting stronger with every sidelong glance, every wordless understanding. With the gentle brush of arms and legs as they walk or sit side by side, James leaning over him, touching him, as they work together in the same tight space. In the steadily increasing time they spend in each other’s company. In the pleasure they take in each other’s presence. 

Robbie’s falling. Fallen. It’s scary and exhilarating and too late to undo. 

He can’t stop kissing James. Can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop moving against him even though he feels the room has turned upside down. Even though he’s afraid of how much of himself he’s revealing with his fevered caresses and breathless kisses and the way he’s holding James’s face between his hands. 

James groans softly against his mouth. Buries his face against Robbie’s shoulder. 

He reaches out and feels for something on the bed. Finds it and throws it across Robbie. 

The cloth is cool on the backs of his thighs, and Robbie knows what it is without looking. He doesn’t know when James rescued the shirt from the hall floor. He can’t remember James’s hands being off him long enough for him to retrieve it. But obviously they were. 

James draws the shirt slowly, teasing it up Robbie’s body, over his arse, up his spine, until it’s covering his back like a blanket. He gathers up the cloth in his fists and stretches it taut. Uses it to hold Robbie tight to him, to bind them together. 

One of the cuffs has come unrolled, and it rests in the small of his back. 

The whole idea of it, the two of them, rocking against each other under the soft pink shirt, is too much. The touch of the cuff that’s been riding against James’s pulse all day, now teasing the sensitive spot in the small of his back, is too much. 

A spike of adrenalin and lust shoots through him. Surprise and pleasure chase across his nerves, and he presses his face into the juncture of James’s neck and shoulder. Whispers, “James!” in a broken, astonished voice. 

Thrusts hard, cock catching and dragging against James’s belly. The friction, with only their sweat and precome to ease the way, is almost painful, but it doesn’t matter because he’s too far gone now. The muscles in the small of his back clamp down, and ripples of pleasure chase up and down his spine. Across his shoulders where the shirt is scraping his skin. And he comes, moving harder and faster as he spills wet, slick heat between them. 

James throws his head back and arches into him hard enough to bruise. Gasps “Robbie!” He comes silently. Not like the first time, when he was loud and lewd and the sounds he made were music and whiskey mixed. 

James’s back bows so that he lifts them both off the mattress. More heat and slickness spurts out between them, and through the ripples and throbs and twisting of his orgasm, Robbie wishes he could see James. Could see the elegant curve of his spine, the ecstatic contraction of muscles strong enough to bear their combined weights. 

Over his harsh, ragged breathing, Robbie can hear James’s fingers twisting, rasping on the cloth across his back. Threads pop against his shoulders. Robbie shudders and thrusts through another volley of sensation. And another. Until he thinks one more burst of pleasure is going to short out his nerves, and he slows to gentle rocking. 

James goes limp and drops back down onto the mattress. Grunts as Robbie collapses on top of him. 

“Sorry,” Robbie mutters and tries to raise up, but he has to wait until James untangles his fingers from the folds of shirt. 

Cool air whispers across his shoulders as James drags the shirt off him. 

Robbie rolls onto his back beside James. Cool air hits the sticky, slick mess on his belly, and he peers down at himself. 

James offers him the wadded up shirt and mimes wiping with it. 

“I can’t use that,” he says, scandalized at the idea. 

“It’ll wash,” James says mildly and moves to wipe his belly with it. 

Robbie snatches it from his hand and moves it as far away as his arm will stretch, out of James’s reach unless he sits up and leans over. 

James just laughs and drops back down on the mattress. Bends his arm so that he can trail the tips of his fingers along Robbie’s shoulder. “That was amazing.” 

Robbie slides his hand over so that his knuckles rest against James’s bare hip. Stares up at the ceiling and clutches James’s shirt in his other hand. “But...?” 

That’s how the conversation started last time, about aberrations and how they maybe shouldn’t repeat what had happened. James had said, ‘That was amazing, but...’ And Robbie had picked up the thread of the conversation, knowing exactly where James was going with it. Agreeing with where James was going with it. And they’d ended up deciding not to do it again. 

After a moment, James stirs. “No ‘but’. Just ‘That was amazing’.” 

“Oh.” Robbie’s heart does a quick double beat. 

James turns towards him without lifting his head and smiles. “So,” he says conversationally, “How you feel about my lavender shirt?” 

###


End file.
